


Aftercare

by justdk



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Brotp, Gen, Pre-Canon, Tattoos, cold hands warm heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justdk/pseuds/justdk
Summary: How Ronan Lynch Got His Tattoo and What Happened After





	Aftercare

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a bridge between my au fics Something to Hurt You and Never Sleeping Again but I think it works for canon, too.

The tattoo design had come to Ronan in a dream. It was a thing of beauty: intricate, haunting, mysterious. When Noah had looked at image, which was painted in pure black ink on white parchment, he had put his hands over his mouth, eyes wide and glistening.

“Ronan,” he whispered, “it’s perfect. It’s… _you_.”

Ronan nodded wearily. He was still recovering from everything, his heart like a constant ache in his chest, his mind filled with loss and rage and hurt.

“Do you know where you’re going to get it done or when?”

“I have an appointment at Black Sheep Tattoo for next weekend. They said it’ll probably take at least three sittings, since it’s a full back piece.”

Noah traced the image, his fingers losing their way in the labyrinth of wings and claws, tree limbs and grasping roots. He noticed and understood elements of the tattoo that were still lost to Ronan; he knew the meaning of the three intersecting lines, of the tiny visions revealed in the knot work of the trees. Ronan would understand one day why the word _remembered_ was scrawled on the edge of a branch. Noah tapped the word lightly with his knuckle.

“Will Gansey go with you?”

Ronan shook his head. “I planned the first appointment for when he’s out of town. I don’t want him to know, yet. It’s better if he thinks that this was a spur-of-the-moment, drunken decision.” There was a lot that Gansey didn’t know about Ronan.

“I’ll go with you,” Noah offered but Ronan turned him down; this was something he had to do on his own.

—–

The day of the appointment arrived and Ronan drove 45 minutes out of Henrietta to a larger town, one with a respectable college population and a renowned tattoo parlor. He got there at noon, right as the shop opened. He was totally sober, unmedicated, and hydrated, too, per the instructions of the shop’s manager. He sat in the BMW for a moment, watching the parking lot fill up, eyeing the customers who trickled in, most of them young and already sporting a good bit of ink. Ronan rubbed his sweating palms over his jeans. He was about to go under the needle for a full session. He was doing this alone, with nothing to distract him except for the playlists on his mp3 player and months of bad memories and nightmares. He got out of the car.

—–

The overall process of being tattooed wasn’t that bad. Ronan had stripped off his standard black muscle tee and stood while the artist, Joey, shaved his back and prepped him. The stencil was placed on his skin and Ronan examined it in the mirror, the sharp lines extending from his neck and shoulders down to just below the waistband of his jeans. It looked perfect on his skin and he couldn’t wait for it to be reality, an unchanging mark in his rapidly changing life; Ronan couldn’t control all of his circumstances but he _could_ control this.

The padded table was cool against Ronan’s chest. His head rested on a small pillow. He positioned his arms like Joey instructed and then closed his eyes, the first song on his playlist queued up as the needle met his skin. It was a sharp, brief pain, less than what a shot at the hospital felt like. Ronan didn’t flinch but he had to constantly remind his muscles to relax; relaxing did not come naturally for him. He quickly adjusted to the sensation of the needle, even relishing the burn and the numbing, repetitious drone of the tattoo gun. The songs passed without Ronan noticing, the hours drifting as he let his mind sink into a meditative state.

Joey stopped at hour three to take a break. Ronan stood and stretched. Some of the other artists came over to check out the progress. They were interested in the image and Ronan explained, truthful as ever, that it came from a dream. One client asked Ronan if he could design a tattoo for him but Ronan declined.

The second round of tattooing was much like the first except that Ronan was getting antsy. Being still for so long was not something he enjoyed and now that he was aware of time he couldn’t stop checking the clock on his mp3 player, agonizing over the crawling minutes. Joey was making good progress and told him that she should be able to finish the outline today.

Finally, after nearly seven hours, with several stops for breaks, they were done. Ronan was stiff and sore when he stood and he wobbled a bit, having to brace himself against the table. Joey looked tired, too, but she got Ronan cleaned up and they both admired the tattoo in the mirror.

“Fucking awesome,” Ronan murmured. His usually pale skin was an angry red but the black lines looked better than he could have imagined.

Joey grinned and took some pictures for her portfolio. She bandaged Ronan and gave him aftercare instructions: wash the tattoo with soap and water three times a day and cover with ointment, applying more as needed. Ronan paid and confirmed that he would be back in two weeks to continue the tattoo, this time getting shading.

—–

The drive back to Henrietta wasn’t pleasant. Ronan had to get some McDonald’s first because, even though he was a newly tattooed badass, he was still shaky. He barely tasted the burger and fries as he inhaled them. Seven hours and nothing to eat. He would have to plan better for next time. _Next time_. He had to admit, even though he was aching and tired, he was already looking forward to his next visit.

Noah was waiting for him when he got back to Monmouth. He could scarcely contain his curiosity and excitement, badgering Ronan to show him the tattoo.

“Later,” Ronan groaned. He stumbled into his room and passed out on his bed.

When he woke up later the light was gone. His back was itchy, chafing beneath the gauze pads and tape. Ronan pushed himself out of bed and carefully removed his shirt. He tried peeling off the tape but some places were too hard to reach, especially when the skin on his back felt so raw.

“Hey! Noah!” Ronan shouted, opening his bedroom door and peering out into the darkened space of Monmouth. He flicked the light switch, which, through some Gansey quirk, turned on the mass of twinkle lights suspended from the rafters. When he turned Noah was standing beside him, his pale face looking smudgier under the lights.

“Jesus!” Ronan yelped. “Man, what did I say about sneaking up on people? Gonna give me a fucking heart attack.”

“Sorry,” Noah shrugged. “You called?”

“Yeah.” Ronan’s voice was gruff. “I need you to help me with this.” He gestured at his back, wincing a little at the stretch. He handed Noah the card that Joey had given him, a simple set of instructions titled “Aftercare.” Noah read over them, his brows furrowed studiously.

“You got the ointment they mentioned?” Noah asked, handing the card back to Ronan.

“Yeah,” Ronan answered. “Lemme get it. Meet you in the bathroom.”

The bathroom/kitchen/laundry room was cramped. Ronan stood in the tub, clad only in his boxers. Noah moved in behind him and gently pulled at the tape, teasing it off his sensitive skin bit by bit. Ronan hissed a little, but without any hair to adhere to the tape removal wasn’t too painful.

“Eww, Ronan, look at these bandages,” Noah said. “They’re like all bloody.”

“Uh-huh,” Ronan muttered, his chin resting against his chest, his arms braced against the wall.

Noah hummed softly and finished removing the bandages. His cold hands brushed against Ronan’s ribs, down to the hem of his boxers. It was weirdly intimate in a way that Ronan hadn’t expected. Noah turned on the water and asked Ronan to test out the temperature. Once it reached lukewarm Noah soaped up a soft cloth and started wiping down Ronan’s back. He moved the cloth in soft, circular motions, carefully cleaning and soothing. It felt incredibly good.

After Noah finished soaping his back Ronan turned on the shower and stood beneath the weak stream of water, eyes closed, body relaxed. This whole process—from being tattooed to the aftercare—was like being reborn. He liked knowing the ink was on his back, in his skin. He liked looking at his shoulders and seeing the tips of wings and branches, the sharp curve of claws.

Noah gave him some privacy to finish his shower but he was there afterwards to help Ronan towel off. Back in his room, Ronan lay down on his bed and Noah knelt next to him on the mattress and squeezed a generous glob of ointment onto his palm before dabbing his fingertips in it. Noah’s touch was as cold as ever and Ronan shivered at first, especially when Noah dragged his index finger down Ronan’s spine.

The cool press of Noah’s hands on his back was perhaps the most comforting and relaxing touch Ronan had ever experienced. Noah somehow made his touch feather-light, barely there, like a teasing puff of wind; it was the perfect balance to how hot and tender Ronan’s back felt. Ronan was glad that Noah, not Gansey, was taking care of him, Gansey who would pester him with questions, Gansey whose palms were rough from rowing and exploration. Noah didn’t ask questions and he didn’t chatter, though he hummed something that sounded a bit like a Blink-182 song. Without meaning to, Ronan fell asleep.

—–

Over the next two weeks Ronan and Noah fell into a pattern of managing the tattoo aftercare, always when Gansey was out or asleep. It felt strange and intimate to keep this a secret from their friend. It was odd and comforting that Ronan had now internalized Noah’s touch— _muscle memory_. It was new and unsettling that he craved that touch even when it wasn’t needed.

—–

Ronan attended his next session and the cycle repeated: pain and relief. He was being remade. He was glad that Noah was there to witness it.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my own experiences of being tattooed. I was sort of guessing about how long to wait between sessions since I've only had one session per tattoo, but from what I've read two weeks is a standard healing time. I took the liberty of using my tattoo artist's name because she's amazing and would do Ronan proud.
> 
> FYI: I'm on tumblr @dkafterdark


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